The City of Eternal Prosperity was a lie that had been told so many times that it had become a kind of truth. The streets were clean, paved with smooth white stones that gleamed in the sunlight. The buildings were tall and well-maintained, their facades adorned with intricate carvings that depicted scenes of abundance and harmony. The people walked with their heads held high, their clothes neat and pressed, their faces bright with the satisfaction of those who had found their place in the world.
But Gu Yao saw what lay beneath the surface. He saw the way the people's eyes darted to the golden abaci around their necks whenever they passed a tax collector, the way their smiles faltered when they thought no one was looking, the way their hands trembled when they counted out their coins. He saw the fear that had been polished and painted over until it looked like contentment.
The city was divided into districts, each one dedicated to a different aspect of the great machine that was the Kingdom of Li. There was the Merchant District, where the goods of a hundred kingdoms were bought and sold. There was the Craft District, where artisans labored over their creations. There was the Temple District, where the Sects' priests performed their rituals and collected their tithes. And there was the Counting District, where the numbers were tallied and the debts were recorded.
The Counting District was the heart of the city. It was a vast complex of stone buildings arranged in precise geometric patterns, their windows narrow and their doors heavy. The air here smelled of ink and paper and the faint, metallic tang of coin. The people who worked here moved with a purpose that was almost mechanical, their faces blank, their eyes fixed on the ledgers in their hands.
Gu Yao stopped at the entrance to the Counting District. His hammer was in his hand, its iron head dark and cold. He could feel the weight of the dead pressing on his shoulders, the weight of all the people who had been reduced to numbers in ledgers like these.
"Brother Gu," Xiao Liu said. "What is this place?"
"This is where they keep the books," Gu Yao said. "This is where they decide who lives and who dies."
He walked forward, his stone leg scraping against the stones, his hammer dragging behind him. The clerks and accountants who filled the district parted before him, their eyes widening as they caught sight of his white hair and his scarred face. They had heard the rumors. They had seen the wanted posters. They knew who he was.
The central building of the Counting District was a massive structure of white stone, its facade covered with carved columns and intricate friezes. Above the entrance, a golden abacus had been carved into the stone, its beads frozen in a configuration that meant nothing to the casual observer but everything to those who understood the language of the system.
Gu Yao pushed open the heavy doors and walked inside.
The interior was vast, a cavernous hall filled with rows of desks and shelves of ledgers. The light that filtered through the high windows was pale and cold, casting long shadows across the floor. The air was thick with the smell of ink and paper and the faint, metallic tang of coin.
At the far end of the hall, a man sat behind a massive desk. He was old, his face lined and weathered, his hands gnarled with age. He wore a robe of deep purple silk, and the golden abacus around his neck was larger and more ornate than any Gu Yao had seen.
"Welcome," the old man said. His voice was thin and reedy, but it carried the weight of authority. "I have been expecting you."
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Gu Yao stopped in front of the desk. His hammer was still in his hand, its iron head dark and cold. "You know who I am."
"I know who you are," the old man said. "I know who you were. And I know who you are going to become." He leaned forward, his eyes glinting in the pale light. "I am the Keeper of the Ledgers. I am the one who records the debts and the credits, the gains and the losses. I am the one who decides who rises and who falls."
"Then you are the one I need to talk to," Gu Yao said.
The old man smiled. It was not a kind smile. "I suspected as much. You have come a long way, Gu Yao. You have walked through the Blood Road and the Forgotten Lands. You have seen the dead rise and the living fall. And now you have come here, to the heart of the machine, to demand answers."
"I demand nothing," Gu Yao said. "I ask."
"Ask, then."
Gu Yao placed his hands on the desk, leaning forward. "The people of this city. They wear golden abaci around their necks. They count their debts and their credits. They have been told that if they work hard enough, they can earn their freedom. But I have seen the ones who stand in the river, and I know that freedom is a lie."
The old man's smile did not waver. "Is it? The Living Pillars chose their fate. They signed their contracts. They knew what they were agreeing to."
"Did they?" Gu Yao asked. "Did they really know? Or were they just told that this was the only way?"
"The law is the law," the old man said. "The Sects have decreed it. The system is just. Those who work hard are rewarded. Those who do not are punished. It is the natural order of things."
Gu Yao shook his head slowly. He had heard these words before, in Qingzhou, in the Blood Road, in a hundred different places with a hundred different names. It was always the same. The Sects were always just. The system was always fair. And the people who suffered were always the ones who had brought it upon themselves.
"The natural order of things," Gu Yao repeated. "That's what you call it. That's what you call a system that takes people's children and grinds them into fuel."
"Fuel," the old man repeated. "That is a harsh word."
"It is the truth," Gu Yao said. "The Sects feed on the lives of mortals. They have always fed on them. And they will continue to feed on them until someone stops them."
The old man was silent for a long moment. His eyes were fixed on Gu Yao, searching for something—a crack in the armor, a weakness that could be exploited.
"You are angry," the old man said at last. "You are angry because you have seen the truth of the world, and you cannot change it. You are angry because you have fought for so long, and you have achieved so little."
"I am angry," Gu Yao said. "But I am not angry because I cannot change the world. I am angry because I have spent fifty years fighting, and I have only just begun to understand what I am fighting against."
The old man leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. "And what is it that you think you are fighting against?"
Gu Yao looked around the hall, at the rows of desks and the shelves of ledgers, at the clerks and accountants who were watching him with wide, fearful eyes.
"I am fighting against this," he said. "Against the idea that a life can be measured in clicks. Against the idea that a person is nothing more than a number in a ledger. Against the idea that the Sects have the right to decide who lives and who dies."
The old man's smile flickered. For just a moment, something else appeared in his eyes—something that might have been fear.
"You are a dangerous man, Gu Yao," the old man said. "You are dangerous because you believe in something that does not exist. You believe in a world where there is no debt, no credit, no balance. You believe in a world where everyone is equal."
"I believe in a world where no one is a number," Gu Yao said. "That is not the same thing."
He turned away from the desk and walked toward the doors. His hammer scraped against the stones, the sound harsh and grinding. Behind him, the old man sat motionless, his eyes fixed on the white-haired figure that was disappearing into the shadows.
"Gu Yao," the old man called out. "You cannot save them. You cannot save anyone. The system is too large. It is too powerful. It has been in place for three thousand years, and it will be in place for three thousand more."
Gu Yao stopped. He did not turn around.
"Maybe," he said. "But I can try."